From the first time he saw her he knew he must touch her curly hair, not a freakish kind of way, but the allure of the softness, the scent of herbal shampoo, drew him to her every day she sat in front of him in 8th grade, and she always had her hair pulled back with a ribbon, making it even more irresistable to tug on the tail, and he did.
Turning around to look at him, she was immediately taken in by his warm, brown eyes, and dark curly hair, and she smiled and so did he, and this begin a ritual every school day; which did not end after he gave her a note in the class, which she held in her nervous, damp hands and discreetly looked inside, only to have nosy students peeking to see what they could see; the note was an invitation to a dance at his church and, “Would you like to go with me to my church dance on Saturday night?” She turned and smiled and nodded, blushing even more than normal, which is to say it was often her cheeks glowed scarlet.
As time went by too quickly, they dated, danced many dances and then attended prom, for which she made a dress complete with a ribbon waste band, to keep the tradition, whether consciously or not, and it was not long before they graduated, wondering if they would go their separate ways or remain together.
As time would have it, there was not enough time at all as the resistance was set up in Viet Nam and young men, such as he was, were sent off to fight the war, and his time came when he went to serve, leaving her behind, tears flowing once he was boarded, so to put on a strong front; tucked away in his pocket was a yellow ribbon to remind him that she would be waiting for him when he returned.
Watching the news became her obsession as she could not resist knowing each and every bit of information about the war, not only was he in the war, her brother was also serving, and it was a very uncertain time; It was just about two years after he left when she received a phone call that there was someone she needed to pick up at the airport, and she ran to her car, drove to the airport and there he stood, holding her yellow ribbon in his hand, and she held their sweet daughter in her arms, pink ribbons in her hair, and asking, “Is that my daddy?”
And that is my Six Sentence Story, why not give it a try? Just go here: Girlie on the Edge